


The Quiet Places

by murron



Category: Supernatural
Genre: First Time, Hurt/Comfort, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-03-16
Updated: 2010-03-16
Packaged: 2017-10-08 01:12:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,953
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/71173
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/murron/pseuds/murron
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They ease him down onto the bed, Dean on one side, Castiel on the other.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Quiet Places

**Author's Note:**

> Spoilers: Up to 5x14  
> Standard Disclaimers Apply
> 
> a/n: Coda to _My Bloody Valentine._

It's six in the morning when Dean drags Sam off the cot and Castiel zaps the three of them up to Bobby's guest room. Sam's clothes are sweated through and his skin is greasy to the touch, but Dean strokes a hand through his brother's hair and doesn't give a shit. Sam's come out on the other side. It's enough for now.

They ease him down onto the bed, Dean on one side, Castiel on the other. Sam, barely conscious, rolls onto his side and curls into a ball, arms gathered close to his chest. It never fails to wreck Dean, the way Sam tries to make himself as small as possible when he's hurting and trying to sleep.

The room's already steeped in white morning light, so Dean draws the curtains and spreads a quilt over his brother. He's past exhaustion himself, but he figures he'll have a shower before hitting the sheets. He can smell the alcohol on his breath; never a good sign.

"Dean," Cas says quietly but Dean leaves the room without meeting his eyes.

"Not now."

 

* * *

 

He ends up sitting with his back to the bathroom door, not really sure how he got there. Coming in, he had dropped his overshirt but never made it to the shower. Arms propped on his knees, Dean rubs the bare place on his finger where his ring used to be. When he closes his eyes, he can still hear Sam weeping inside the panic room. He doesn't know what spooks him more, the ghost of Sam's pain or the vacuum of Bobby's quiet house.

He longs to turn on his music, something loud and blaring, electric guitars drowning out the silence. As it is, Dean feels like he waits forever just to hear a pin drop.

_That's one deep, dark nothing you got there._

Dean scrubs a hand down his face, stubble rasping against the heels of his palms.

Sam used to shut himself into the bathroom as a kid, hiding whatever emotional drama he didn't want Dean to witness. Trying to give Sam the space he needed, Dean left him alone but it was hard, especially in the early days. Being cut off from Sam always left him skittish and frightened, but he couldn't name his fear for a long time. Not until Sam left for Stanford and Dean stood in the ruins of their family, a gaping void on the side where Sam used to hold him up.

Sometimes it feels like he's never really returned from that feeling of loss and everything that happened after, his father's disappearance, Sam's death, hell, the Apocalypse… it just widened the breach. Dean always figured he would fix it someday. He never thought he would run out of the pieces to put himself back together.

The doubts weigh heavy on him. He'd give about anything to escape the undertow, but these days nothing does the trick. Dean bends over to run his hands through his hair when someone knocks at the door.

"Dean." Castiel's voice, muffled this time. At least he's learned to read the implication of a closed door. Dean considers getting up but doesn't find the energy.

"Give me a minute, Cas," he calls, vaguely thinking he might try for the shower again. The words barely leave his mouth before Cas suddenly stands in front of him.

There goes that learning curve.

"One of these days you're going to end up materialising inside a wall," Dean tells him. "Don't expect me to shed a tear."

Not bothering to answer, Cas hunches down until they're eye to eye. Dean jumps, he can't help it. "Cas, come on," he mutters, feeling exposed under the angel's direct stare. He scratches the t-shirt over his belly with self-conscious unease before he decides: what the hell. Cas never shows any qualms trespassing on his nightmares, so his dignity's not worth a dime anyway.

Narrowing his eyes, Dean stares right back and expects Cas to take the hint and back off. When Cas moves in instead, he catches Dean completely off guard. Flashing back to Zachariah's green room, Dean throws up his arms in defence. He tries to escape but only manages to bang his head on the door before Cas kisses him.

Kisses him? No fucking way. And no way Dean's opening his mouth at the first touch, not nudging Cas' lips apart with his tongue. Before he knows what he's doing, he licks the spit off Castiel's lower lip, the urge to taste him so strong it twists his stomach.

Dean's hands shoot up to push at Cas' shoulders but Cas brushes him off easy. Dean grabs his shirt instead, pulling its tails from Cas' waistband. The kiss flips from messy to fierce fast. Cas' warm breath on his bruised lips burns on every inch of Dean's skin and within seconds he's so hard inside his jeans it hurts. Cas started it but Dean knocks into him with freefall speed.

This shouldn't be happening. No reason, it fucking makes no sense, but here's suddenly all the hunger Dean professed he couldn't feel. There's a weird, singing need in Cas' assault and Dean soaks it up like blotting paper.

Cas moans low in his throat and Dean gasps, letting go of Cas' shirt to undo his own fly. When Cas' palm strokes up the side of his throat, Dean grabs his wrist, tugs him down and wraps Cas' hand around his cock. With a jolt Dean arches his back into the touch and Cas' grip tightens. Breaking the kiss for a sharp breath, Dean turns away his face and guides Cas' fist to movement, stroking and jerking just right. When Cas knows how to go with it – fast, oh so God damn fast – Dean's free hand scrabbles on the floor until he finds his abandoned shirt. He clutches the worn folds of cotton, his chest clenching so tight there's no room for air. Letting go of Cas' wrist, Dean slides his hand up his arm, thumb digging into the straining tendons when Cas suddenly stops.

Shoulders pressing into the door, Dean's groan turns into something close to a sob.

"Damn it, Cas," he grinds out. "Don't stop." But Cas' grip actually lets up and Dean grinds his teeth in frustration. When he snaps around to see what's wrong he finds Cas staring at the floor, eyes wide and unfocused. He looks panicked, chest rising and falling with ragged breaths and Dean gets it. His throat constricts, seeing Cas this way, all rumpled and messed up and so obviously out of his depth. Choking back another awkward noise, he reaches up, cupping the nape of Cas' neck

"It's okay," he wrings out the words or tries to, "Don't… "

Not hearing or not caring, Cas blinks and leans closer, forehead brushing against Dean's temple and Dean turns for that, too, wrenching the collar of Cas' coat into his fist. Cas' hand is still on his dick, his callused palm teasing along the sensitised skin but it's too little friction: Dean's teetering on a line, so worked up every muscle in his body just keeps drawing tighter.

One hand still fisted into Cas' coat, Dean swallows hard, hips pushing up into Cas' loose hold.

It's not enough and Dean doesn't know how it will ever be.

Breath grazing Dean's cheek, Cas moves to kiss the cut above Dean's brow. His fingers curl against the line of Dean's jaw and it's the tenderness of his touch that sends Dean over the edge. Cas doesn't even have to squeeze it from him, he just flies apart.

After, it takes a while until the room around them reassembles. Distantly, Dean feels the cold soaking from the tiles into his thighs. When he moves, the back of his t-shirt catches on the door's flaking varnish.

When he can breathe again, Dean pushes Cas' hand off his face but Cas doesn't go far. He keeps kneeling close and before Dean can help himself, he's carding his fingers through Cas' short hair. He looks at the mirror above the sink, the limp shower curtains, everywhere but at Cas' face. Eventually he just closes his eyes, feeling his heart beat and his ribs ache as if he'd run for miles.

Cas braces both hands on the door on either side of Dean's face, apparently no better off. Dean has no idea where it comes from, this keen-edged compulsion to touch, but his hand blindly finds the hollow of Cas' shoulder and squeezes.

Cas' elbows cave as if his arms can no longer support his weight. Trying to hold on to anything but Cas, Dean wraps an arm around his own knee. He leans his head back but when Cas presses another kiss to the corner of his mouth, Dean turns to meet him, catching Cas' lower lip between his teeth and biting gently.

He can't think beyond that; can't think how this feels so very different from everything Dean knows.

Cas tastes like salt and water, sweet and bitter, and every fibre of Dean's body wants to drink him in. It's a new kind of thirst and it doesn't go no matter how fast or slow Dean gives into the ache or the relief.

After a time, Cas shoves off and sits down next to Dean, their shoulders touching. Cas tie's come loose even more than usual and, for a weird second, Dean almost reaches over to fix it for him.

Neither of them talks, but that's all right. Dean has no idea what in hell's name he's going to say anyway.

 

* * *

 

He's back in the guestroom when Sam wakes up, waiting in a chair close to the bed. Sam comes to, pressing a hand over his eyes before a batch of sandpapery coughs rack his chest.

"Here," Dean says quietly, lifting a water bottle from the bedside table and unscrewing it for Sam.

Sam takes it, draining most of the bottle in one go. Midday's come and gone, the fading light picking out the shadows of the curtains' pattern on Sam's face.

"How long was I out?" he asks, not meeting Dean's eyes.

"Long time," Dean evades. "You okay?"

Sam doesn't answer but then, Dean didn't expect him to. He watches the storm of fear and despair pass over Sam's face, his agony always too damn easy to read.

"It's never gone, never," he mutters roughly. "And I'll always …" He breaks off with an angry sound, clenching his fist on the bed. He still doesn't look at Dean when he lets out a shaky breath and continues with false calm. "I'm a goddamn menace. You were right, you can't trust me."

Before Sam's finished, Dean gets up from the chair and closes the short distance to the bedside. He bends over, placing a brief kiss on Sam's forehead like he hasn't done since Sam was five or six. Sam jerks around, startled, staring at him.

"Don't talk just now," Dean tells him. Sam's confusion makes him look young and it reminds Dean sharply of days when the weight of the world didn't press down on his brother's shoulders or his own.

Nodding at the empty bottle in Sam's fist, he says, "I'll get you some more water." He leaves Sam without an explanation, making his way along the dim hallway. Passing the bathroom door, he remembers Cas' mystified 'I have to leave' and the sound of wings echoing from the tiles. He'd taken his shower then, the water rushing loud past his ears.

Halfway down the stairs he can hear Bobby cluttering around the kitchen and the gurgling noise of the coffee maker just starting up.

_end_  
___________

15/03/10

Beta by **auburn**


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